


Poison & Wine

by seasonschange_butpeopledont



Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of past abuse, mentions of hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasonschange_butpeopledont/pseuds/seasonschange_butpeopledont
Summary: When Pero Tovar is hired by your father to escort you back to your homeland for your wedding, the last thing you expect is to fall for the brutish mercenary.
Relationships: Pero Tovar/Reader, Pero Tovar/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Poison & Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in the Pedro fandom and my first time posting my writing in about five years. Please be gentle with me! I'm skeptical about the title, but I was listening to a lot of The Civil Wars when I wrote this.

They were a long way from Spain. To Pero Tovar, it seemed they were _always_ a long way from Spain. It was country he remembered from his youth and carried with him in his mother tongue and tanned skin but had no particular ties to now that he had grown into a man. Since his childhood, his loyalties had been to whichever hand was feeding him. It was a harsh way of life, and it had made him an even harsher man.

He had fought for Spain only once in his time with the company, but never against it. The thought troubled him sometimes, as he stared up at the sky and wondered what he would do if he were faced with such a question of loyalty. Would he fight against his motherland? His brothers? Would Pero Tovar be a man of honor when it came down to it? Most nights, like this one, he pushed these thoughts out of his mind easily, locking them away in the dungeons of his mind, and praying for the sweet abyss of sleep to pull him under quickly. It usually did. He only did what he needed to survive in a world that was content to leave him out in the cold, aching with hunger; he had no reason to lose sleep at night.

When he awoke at first light, his back was sore from sleeping in his bedroll for too many nights in a row. His body ached; he knew he was growing much too old to continue in this lifestyle for much longer. The fact that he had lived long enough to feel the aches and pains of age in his profession was a testament to his skill with the sword. Typically, the end was met much too soon for a sell-sword to have such worries. Pero had always planned to die by the sword, the same way he had lived. He did not need to fear death.

Pero didn’t imagine his life looked much like what his late mother had imagined it would when he was a child. She had expected to raise a poor farmer, like his father before him. A man who would work and cultivate his lands, likely marrying a peasant girl from the village and filling their modest but sturdy home with an army of children who would go on to be poor farmers as well. This was his mother’s dream, but it would not be a reality.

Pero had been with the company since he was a boy, having joined shortly after his mother’s death on her birthing bed. His father grew angry after the loss of his beloved wife, spending much of his time drinking and gambling away the family’s meager profits from selling their crops at the village tavern. Pero’s stomach still knotted when he thought of the night he’d received the scar across his eye which had become his trademark. With his menacing stare and skill with the sword, most had assumed he’d received the mark in battle. Pero was content to let them believe it, remaining silent and brooding and enigmatic.

He’d run away that same night, taking refuge first in the church, and then on the streets. Left with no other option, he’d learned to fight, steal, and survive. When he’d come across the company, a brotherhood of men and boys like just him who had fallen through the cracks of this world, he’d been eager to join. Pero had never taken a man’s life before, but he liked the idea of dying like a warrior rather than a starving dog in the streets.

When he’d met William, they'd broken away from the company in favor of selling their swords independently. There was less competition this way, and they formed a tentative partnership. They didn’t trust each other, but they formed a friendship easily enough. Pero was content with this life—as content as he could be, that is. After leaving the company, he now enjoyed the occasional creature comforts—a warm room and full belly on the nights when the cold became too much and he could afford to spare enough coins to stay in an inn and hire the occasional tavern wench to share his bed, pristine armor and weaponry to aid him in his work and forge his infamous reputation amongst the nobility.

It was in a tavern that they’d been approached by one of the messengers, a lanky, blond fellow who had appeared nervous and bumbling as he’d presented the message to the elite mercenaries. They were being summoned to appear before the lord of the land.

Pero and William had a reputation; it was unsurprising that their presence in the capital had been made known to the nobles. They were the best in the business when it came to seedy, under the table dealings and dangerous, daring missions. _Adventure_ , William preferred to call it.

When the messenger had finished fumbling his way through the summon, he rolled up the scroll, stuffed it in his cloak, and left Pero and William to hash out their plans among themselves.

“For the record, _amigo_ , I think we should keep riding. No good will come of this.”

William waved off his concern, turning to one of the tavern wenches to order another flagon of ale. “You worry too much, Tovar. It would be foolish to ignore a lord’s summons.”

“Give it a few days. This lord will lose his head soon enough,” Pero grumbled. It was no secret that these particular lands were troubled. The harvest had failed and the people were starving, falling quickly to illness. All the while, nobility sat locked in their castles, with full bellies and no solutions. This lord was the kind of man that Pero despised on principle. If William weren’t so interested in his coin, then he would likely despise him too.

“What could he possibly want with a couple of sellswords?” William wondered. Pero gave him an unamused look when he glanced up from his ale.

“Something tells me we are about to find out.”

* * *

Riding towards the castle felt like riding through a cemetery. All around them were peasants with gaunt faces and sullen eyes. It was rare that Pero felt well-fed, but here he did. He could remember what it had been like to be in their position when he was a boy. The pangs, the hopelessness of true hunger. He felt the same resentment welling up inside of him when they reached the gates of the lord’s castle.

Pero felt out of place here. Truthfully, he felt this way any time he was unable to see the sky above him. The walls that surrounded him felt less like shelter and more like a cage. Surrounded by all of these fineries, he could only think about the children he’d seen in the village. How did this so-called lord sleep at night when those children cried from hunger?

When they reached the great hall, they found that the man in front of them was not what they had expected. Pero had imagined that such a lord would be a cold, imposing man- frightening, even- but this one was nothing more than a petite, balding man, who dabbed the cowardly sweat from his brow with a handkerchief when he caught sight of his guests. Probably half-mad, if the shifty, paranoid look in his eyes was any indication. He had reason to be nervous; everyone knew that his people loathed him enough to want him dead, even if they had no coin to hire the mercenaries’ services.

The man gave them a weak, thin smile in greeting. “Hello, boys.”

“My lord,” William bowed, and Tovar reluctantly followed suit. “It is an honor to receive such an invitation. How may we be of service?”

A grave look came over the lord’s face, and he began wringing the handkerchief in his hands. “You know of my daughter, do you not?”

The mercenaries were not the only ones with a reputation. You were the youngest daughter of Lord Hilliard, rumored to be hidden away in some castle in the far off reaches of neighboring lands. Word had it that a powerful, wealthy lord had his eye on you for his bride; despite your father’s destitute lands, you were very beautiful, and that was worth more to the man than gold. Marrying the man would, almost inevitably, mean monetary aid would be provided to your father’s lands, thus restoring the livelihood of your people and, likely, preventing your father’s untimely death at the hands of disgruntled peasants or mercenaries such as themselves. It was the obvious choice and a far better offer than you would receive elsewhere, but it seemed that, up until now, your father was tempted to refuse. Rather than immediately selling you off like a prized mare, your father had locked you away in a tower and let his people starve through the winter. _Selfish bastard_ , Pero thought to himself.

“Only rumors of her beauty, your grace,” William said pleasantly, though they had certainly heard much more about you than that. He was better at this sort of thing than Pero was, telling half-truths and faking smiles.

“I have decided to permit Lord Anwar her hand in marriage. I would ask that you seek her out and return her to this castle so that the wedding may take place.”

The task was simple enough for a pair of skilled sellswords, but the request itself was perplexing.

“May I ask, My Lord, why do you not send your personal guards to collect her?” “I do not trust them,” He admitted. “They have no loyalty to my family anymore. You, as I understand it, are loyal to coin. I can pay you handsomely for her safe return.”

William looked to Tovar, who ground his teeth together tightly but said nothing. William nodded. A look of relief passed over the lord’s face.

“I am pleased with your acceptance. I know what you both must think of me.”

“I doubt that,” Pero grumbled, earning him a sharp jab to the ribs from William’s elbow.

“I am giving my only daughter to save my people,” Lord Hilliard said gently.

“You give her to save your neck,” Pero countered. “Not for your people.”

“If the people are fed, does it really matter?” William intervened. The room was tense, but Pero knew that William had a point. He remained silent as William negotiated their payment and uncovered the details of where you had been taken. They would need to travel undercover- another benefit offered by the employment of sellswords. No one needed to know that you had left the safety of the castle walls, especially if you intended to keep your head and honor intact.

* * *

You found yourself standing on the battlements of the castle. You had no business here, but it was the absolute last place that someone would come looking for you.

You needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the court for a few moments. Everyone had been in a tizzy over the prospect of a wedding. Everyone but you, the bride, of course.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected this to happen someday. If you were anything, you were dutiful. You would follow your father’s commands with grace and a smile, but it did not mean that you couldn't have some reservations about marrying a man you had never met. You liked the battlements, even if you seemed a bit out of place here. Running your fingers along the grimy stone wall, you thought of the knights you had dreamed of as a child. Gallant and strong, the type of men they wrote songs about. Before you’d been old enough to understand much of anything, you remembered sitting with your father at tournaments, watching with rapt attention as the knights competed in the joust. Most of all, you remembered the crown of roses the winner would hand out to a lady. You’d received one once, at the tournament held in honor of your birthday. You remembered having the vague notion that you would like to marry one of those men one day. Someone honorable, someone who would love you. It was a dream that you had carried with you all of these years despite how childish it seemed to you now.

The choices about your future were never yours to make, but perhaps the days ahead would surprise you.


End file.
